


Overwatch: Rising from the ashes

by ProjectSS



Series: Project SS [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Post-Fall of Overwatch, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectSS/pseuds/ProjectSS
Summary: “Peace is all Overwatch ever wanted. Even if as soldiers, it was their job to fight, the end goal was always to eliminate threats to humanity and allow those who can’t defend themselves to live in peace. Yet, even with all Overwatch’s efforts, the innocents turned their backs on them, leaving them to twiddle their thumbs while terrorist organisations all over the planet ran rampant. Much to everyone’s surprise, the fate of the war was placed in the shoulders of a dead man walking. No, I don’t mean Reyes. The catalyst that put everything in motion was a revenant swordsman, a renegade who seemingly arrived from nowhere and tore into his enemies as though it was all he was meant for. He was a wild card, his presence alone forced both Overwatch and Talon to change the plans they had in place and forced us to adapt. I only saw the look in his eyes a handful of times; His eyes were distant and full of sorrow, regret and memories. To this day, I wonder if he’ll ever share those memories with me.”-Sombra
Relationships: Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Project SS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185905
Kudos: 1





	Overwatch: Rising from the ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcane was usually pretty good at covering his tracks, meaning he seemingly came from nowhere when he was spotted tearing Junkertown a new asshole.

It was evening, just a little way back from a cliff, overlooking what was once Yarra Valley, the gem of Australia. Once filled with lush greenery and nature that would make you stop and stare: Now a barren stretch of burning hot sands and rusted metal. Among the remains stood Junkertown, a settlement built by the survivors of nuclear pollution. The smell of fallout, and old fuel was in the air, rusted metal walls separating the settlement into sections, buildings on the verge of collapsing. Junkers roamed the streets, like the undead in an apocalypse, weapons of choice slung over their backs. Maces, axes, hammers, grenade launchers, you name it, at least four residents probably used it when roaming the wasteland. In a way, these people _were_ living in an apocalypse.  
_Woosh.  
_ A dark, streamlined figure slunk through the shade, undetected. Navy blue armour coated his muscular, athletic build. A large, matching blue sword sat in the straps on his back, a smooth seam down the center. His black, metal mask covered the top of his face, showcasing a jawline as sharp as the weapon on his back, both of which could cut diamonds easily. His lips were curled upward. His head twitched around, wary as a feline predator, searching, scanning the area for signs of danger, watching the catwalks as men, women and children dragged themselves from A to B. Junkertown wasn’t a fun place to live. Well, _Arcane_ couldn’t really say much, he lived in a kitted out cave, himself. But at the very least, he wasn’t suffering from radiation poisoning just by his choice of residence. When the omnic factories had been built, the Outback had been plunged into chaos, and yet the strongest survived, and rose up like zombies. They had come together, built this place on top of the heap, established as close to a society as they were ever going to get. That was going to change, if Arcane had anything to say about it.

With the elegance and grace of a tiger, the swordsman climbed up one of the corroded walls, perching on the slanted, corrugated roof of one of the ‘buildings’ and keeping a keen eye on the lesser beings below. The junkers were strange, their main communication involved a lot of shouting, their entertainment was watching robots fight to the death, it was different here to say the least. It made these people interesting, and Arcane would stay to study them if there wasn’t a prize for disbanding them. Besides, honing his skills as a swordsman was also on the table, and that was very important to him.  
_Slip.  
_ A few loose pieces of gravel shifted underfoot, fleeing as though intimidated. He dropped to flatten himself against the warm metal as a couple of junkers looked in his direction. He was out of sight by the time they had their attention fixed on his position. One of them, a woman with a patchwork, hooded trench coat and an ammo belt, pulled a makeshift sniper-rifle off of her back, and put the scope in the direction of the sound, lining her eye up with what looked like a beer bottle for a scope, gazing through the cracked glass. Arcane almost snorted, wondering how that worked for her. Her free eye squinted, but Arcane was nowhere to be seen.  
“Put the place on low alert. Could be an intruder, but no proof yet” Her accent came through thick and harsh, clearly a local.  
“Merda…” He cursed in Italian, his native tongue. Arcane wasn’t one to set off any alarms, at least not until the kill was made, but he could easily fight his way out of here should he need to.

A minute passed, Arcane remained completely still. He remembered watching Jurassic Park as a child, how Alan Grant was sure the Tyrannosaurus Rex wouldn’t see them if they didn’t move. He thought it stupid at the time. Now he internally scolded himself for undermining the validity of staying completely still to avoid being seen, even if _he_ was the predator in this situation. The Junkers eventually lost interest in the spot and continued on their way, allowing him a moment of relaxation. Gears grinded and chains screeched causing him to wince as a large door opened up, like the jaws of a beast swallowing the Junkers whole. The voice of the Queen echoed through some crackly speakers on either side-  
“Welcome to the Scrapyard!” Her accent was also thick, Australian to the core, he guessed. He also guessed that she’d be somewhere through that door, he just needed a way in without detection. He scanned the panels of rusted metal, the sheets thrown together in a miss-matched pattern that was very unpleasing to the tasteful eye. There were windows in the ceiling of the scrapyard, and they had no glass in them at all. Perfect. Without even bothering to calculate, Arcane leapt from his current roof and reached out for the ledge to the top of the Scrapyard, clutching it in his fingers and using all the upper-body strength he could muster to bring himself to a place where he could stand. With one quick move, he brought one hand through his chocolate-brown hair, wiping it back from his vision. His chin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, the light glancing off his now-reflective jaw like bullets off a blade. This heat would be the end of him if he didn’t hurry up; His cyber suit wasn’t exactly cooling. He tread lightly towards the first set of windows and looked down into the building, the group of junkers he’d seen before still making their commute, a loud, echoing conversation between the two rose up to him.  
“What does she want with us this time?” A large, bulky man with a crooked nose, a metal arm and a vicious-looking, jagged machete was the first one he heard talking.  
“She wants to up the security. ‘Tired of having Junkrat and Roadhog tryin’a get back in, I suppose.” The sniper responded, her hood now down around her neck, allowing greying hairs to roll down around her shoulder.  
Junkrat and Roadhog, those names rung a few bells. Arcane wracked his brains in an attempt to find something, it suddenly came to him. They were world-wide thieves, Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, they went on a heist streak recently, stealing over 7.3 million dollars. Nobody knows where it went… Snapping back to reality, Arcane tuned back into their conversation. A 3rd junker, one who appeared to be piloting a large, spherical mech and talking in an automated voice piped up.  
“I haven’t been here long, but I trust the Queen a lot. I’m sure whatever she has to say is important.” It seemed as if the voice was reading off a text-to-speech program, rather than whoever was piloting it speaking into a microphone. Maybe there wasn’t a pilot at all? Maybe it was a fully automated robot? Arcane had seen this mech on multiple posters throughout the place, Wreckingball; The champion of the mech arena. Plenty of posters around the place had showcased the event of the Junkertown Queen gifting a shining trophy to the metal ball. Suddenly it clicked in his mind. A tiny hamster had been reaching out of the mech to receive the trophy. He had no clue how an animal was smart enough to pilot the Wreckingball, but given some of the things Arcane had seen in life, it didn’t seem too far fetched. Judging from the battle scars on the sphere, Arcane could tell that the mech arena had been a recent event.

 _Enough of the trivial stuff!_ He thought to himself. He knew he had to focus. He was wise to guess that this trio was headed to see the Queen, he intended to follow them. They’d lead him right to her, right to the heart of Junkertown. As the trio began to make the large U-turn, Arcane noticed a titan-sized fan that spun in slow, clunky motions, spinning with a noise that made one wince the same way nails on a chalkboard would. Arcane dropped through the window, landing on the trundling fan’s blade and crouching, following behind Wreckingball and the other two with predatory stealth. The group reached the end of the U-turn, and down the home stretch from them, a woman sat on a metal throne. Bright blue, spiky hair clung to her scalp with a single plait that came to her chest. A torn leather jacket was slung loosely over her shoulders and a large, crooked axe-like weapon was leant on the side of her throne. Arcane tapped a button on the wrist of his armour, bringing up a small holo-image of his target, it was a perfect match.  
“Target acquired…” Arcane muttered under his breath. The large fan brought him to be level with one of the walls to the Queen’s right. He jumped on the opportunity and began running along the wall, turning around the sharp, inward corner until he was clinging to the wall just above the woman. None of the walking junkers noticed him, it was perfect. He was ready, stuck to the wall by the flats of his feet and the palm of his left hand, his right resting firmly on the hilt of the sword. Now, all that was left was for the junkers to leave, so he could make the hit without detection.

But it wouldn’t be a contract from “Ol’ Smokey” if things were that simple. Smokey was one of Arcane’s clients, who had a habit of making unintentionally hard missions for mercenaries and assassins in his arsenal. Last time Arcane had worked for him, he was supposed to break into a museum and steal the reconstructed skeleton of some dinosaur without damaging any of the bones. Reminiscing of it nearly made him chuckle at how he had been thinking about Jurassic Park earlier. He barely made it through that contract, he ended up just taking one bone each night over the course of a long time. The point at hand being Smokey was irritatingly difficult to please, but also very rewarding. This was no different. If Arcane managed to slay the Queen and disband the junkers, 1.2 million pounds were at hand here, and possibly an escape route if Arcane ever wished to return to a normal life. Not that normal was possible anymore.

The trio stood before the Queen for what seemed like hours, Arcane was becoming impatient. His suit was able to handle this, he could play this game all day if he wanted to, it was simply a question of if he wanted to or not. Having avoided detection thus far, he was leaning towards the former, but the latter was a tempting option as bore and uninterest threatened to consume his better judgement. There’d be snow here in Australia before he would be leaving at this rate. Then, voices raised. He leaned in a little further, it sounded like an argument taking place. He peered over the edge to see the Queen raising her axe. She kneed the rifle-wielding junker in the stomach, bringing the poor thing to her knees before brutally ending her life with a well placed axe hit to the back of the neck. The severed head rolled forward, blood spurting out of the stump in a way that he couldn’t help but cringe at before shaking off the shudders.   
“How unsightly…” Arcane said to himself. The machete-man recoiled, the mech showed no reaction.  
“If you’re gonna survive in Junkertown, you’re gunna have to learn where your place is!” She threatened the two remainers with the blade, pointing in one direction before taking aim at the other, switching between the two as she spoke. “I’m all that most of you have left, remember that…'' She turned on her heel, retreating to a corridor on the left of the throne, towards what looked like a treasure room. It was now or never.

“Essere andato!” Arcane dropped from his position, raising the blade high above his head. As he fell, time seemed to slow down, the moment frozen as he calculated his strike. The blade alignment, the swing speed, the part of the Queen’s body he was aiming for, everything had to be perfect if he wanted to end this here and now. It _was_ perfect. Time seemed to unfreeze, and Arcane dropped, bringing it through the Queen in a single, swift strike from the base of her neck to her opposite waist. She froze, paralysed from the shock, both literally and metaphorically. Her top half slowly slid off, like an ice cube on a ramp, her blood carving intricate patterns into the little mounds of dust on the floor. Her spine protruded from the severed flesh. Arcane bitterly gazed at the corpse. Wreckingball and the other junker looked at the figure before them, shocked. The man’s jaw gaped as his eyes scanned the assailant. The modern armour, the blazing purple light gathered around the sword, and then, without warning, he shook himself free of his paralysis and darted forward. The machete junker raised his blade high above his head, preparing to bring it downwards and cleave into Arcane. The remorse vanished from the arcanist as he slid into a quick riposte. He countered with a tripping maneuver, the junker stumbling and falling to the ground. Arcane clenched the handle of his sword in both hands, taking aim. A harsh beam of blazing energy that seemed almost _eldritch_ erupted from the sword. What looked like dark flames devoured the target in moments before dissipating, leaving a large pile of ashes. Wreckingball advanced next, his mech tucking it’s legs into its body and rolling towards Arcane with break-neck speed. The spinning metal became a blur, all the seams and patches fading together into a metallic sheet that charged him. The warrior braced himself, holding the sideways stance again and digging his heels in as the sphere began to push him backwards. Then, like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler, Wreckingball saw his mistake. The seam down the middle of the weapon widened, separating into dual blades, one holding up Arcane’s defence, holding steady as he aimed the second and jammed it into a chink in the armour. The robot recoiled like a cat with its eyes covered, pulling back instantly and trembling violently. The eighteen wheeler drew closer once more, charging Wreckingball and raising the blades high above his head. _Clang!_ The metal surface shuddered and rippled at the impact, threatening to buckle and give way. A loud thunk was followed by a zip, a harpoon gun embedding in the propeller blade Arcane had rode in on and dragging Wreckingball away from the fight. One of his mech’s arms extended as he trundled past an alarm button.

The ringing of the bells had a short reign before 1,000 Australian roars took over, multiple warriors flooding into the scrapyard and blocking the exits. To his right, atop the ledge the propeller was welded to, four Junkers readied makeshift assault-rifles, taking aim at the phantom below them. It was all in vain, the moment there was muzzle flash, he darted off to the left, scampering up the wall and pushing himself off. He completed two somersaults before fusing the swords together again and blasting another beam, annihilating two of the men and sending a third fleeing for his life. The formidable swordsman landed in a crouch on the same ledge as the last Junker remaining, who sent a well-placed sonic-grenade to Arcane’s feet. His ears were filled with a high-pitched wail that refused to let-up. He took one hand away from his sword and moved up to his mask, pressing a small button that extended the metal over his ears, protection from any further damage. Then he was back to the combat. He looked around for a moment, the Junker in front of him was charging forward, holding the rifle by the barrel, stubborn in the losing fight as he brought the butt of the firearm down. Arcane brought the blade up to deflect the attack, knocking the rifle into the ground and shoving the cross guard of his sword into the Junker’s face, the hand-guard gouging out his eye. Even through the metal shielding his ears, the slayer could hear the man’s agonising pain; he’d dropped his weapon and was clutching his bleeding socket, blinded. Arcane took advantage of the disabled foe, holding the longsword in a reverse grip and driving the blade into his stomach, then out through it. Intestines were skewered on the blade, drenching it in even more blood than what the Queen had given off and tinting the blue metal in a thick layer of crimson red. The smell of blood filled the air, metallic and gross, infiltrating Arcane’s nose and causing him to cringe. For now, he had a moment to breath.

It was a short-lived moment. A new wave of Junkers roared below that had come to continue the fight. One of them was another sniper, he raised his rifle up to aim and sent a well-placed bullet into Arcane’s shoulder, knocking him from the high ground. He sprawled to the floor, an action figure being tossed aside by a young child who had already moved on to the gaming console. His armor clattered on the ground, a little of the blood from the Queen splashing against his back. His legs kicked into the air, the momentum bringing him back onto his feet in one quick movement. The blade split again, the dual configuration, one in each hand. The tips dragged along the ground, sparks flying and lighting stray piles of sulphur as he dashed underneath the ledge he had just been on, dipping down, then leaping up. The flats of his blades smacked into the sniper, sweeping his legs out from beneath him and finishing with a quick stab into the man’s chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. Two more of the new opponents came towards him, slow and intimidating this time. The adrenaline pumped through Arcane’s veins, sweat seeping from the pores of his skin like a carpet of volcanoes sent into eruption. This was what he lived for now, the thrill of a battle, making every move as if it was his last, because it just might be, sharpening both the Enigma Blade and his senses as though they were one. The first warrior, wearing little armor and equipped with a large, stiff mace, swung with the might of a bull, fire in his eyes. The base of the ball-end clung to the sword in Arcane’s right hand, who slid the blade down the handle and sliced at the hands clenched around it. The man clutched at his bleeding knuckles, dropping the blunt thing with a resounding, metallic sound. Arcane twirled clockwise, spinning to the right of him and driving the blade into his back with a reverse grip, blocking an attack from another junker with a scythe using his free hand’s sword. Retracting the bloodied blade from the spine of the fallen soldier resulted in an easy follow up to the block, a hilt smash straight into the reaper’s rejected Junker cousin. He doubled over, his head in a perfect position for a swift decapitation. Every move Arcane made seemed to flow like water. Aware they were on the losing side, the remaining three began to flee from the scene, but were halted by the door falling violently shut after another beam blasted the open-and-close mechanism to pieces with ease, the chains squealing and the gears splintering from the attack that left them shattered. The victims watched as the arcanist closed in, their piercing screams of terror filled the streets of Junkertown shortly after.

Just around the bend from the entrance to the scrapyard, the locals had set up a temporary roadblock, consisting of striped bars and a rusty truck, setting themselves cover behind it and readying their weapons over the top. Screams reached their ears, echoing, reverberating through the cramped spaces and sending multiple chills down each of their spines. Wreckingball, now partially patched up, was with them, hiding in the wings for an ambush attack from above. They waited.

And waited.

Nothing, no signs of Arcane anywhere.

For 5 minutes.

“Tutti temono l'arcano!” Everyone turned their heads, looking over the shoulder to see their target standing behind them with a questionable stance: His blade pointed towards his own chest. Everyone began to cackle.

Taunts.

“Look at this guy! He can’t even hold a sword roight!”

Jeers.

“Oi, ya cocky cunt! You’re dead, ya hear me?”

Unawareness of what was in store.

“Is… is 'e cutting himself open?”

Cockiness, Arrogance, not a spark of fear anywhere within their forms or souls. That Junker was right, Arcane was indeed cutting himself open. With the tip of his blade, he brought it to his left shoulder and pressed it inward about an inch, gripping the blade with both hands and pulling in a diagonal slice from there to his right flank. The move was quick and clean, neatly tearing his flesh and armor as the dark energies flared up, trying to force their way through the wound.

But he wasn’t done. Next was a stroke from the right shoulder to the left flank, creating an _X_ drawn into his front. Then he began to pick up the pace. He went from left flank to left shoulder, left shoulder to right shoulder, right shoulder to right flank, and finished with a horizontal strike across the bottom, carving a square around the cross, imprisoning it. A smirk crawled onto his features before the junkers were blinded, a screen of aura eradicating all life in-front of him, washing over each and every one of the fighters. It burned skin from flesh, blesh from bones, and bones from existence within a second of the wave hitting them. Mechs toppled, barriers flew, the large truck in the road-block rolled over, even Wreckingball was not safe, the hamster quickly vapourised by the energy thundering from within the swordsman. The darkness was gone as sudden as it had appeared, leaving Arcane floating mid-air for a second before dropping to the ground, clutching at where his wounds had been but a moment ago. Soreness coursed through his chest, searing him. That move always took a lot out of him, but it was so satisfying to see the confused look on their faces when they saw the questionable decision of hurting himself in the heat of a fight. Finally, he picked himself up and threw his longsword back into the scabbard, looking at the last line of defence Junkertown had, the line he had just up and deemed destroyed. Gone in the blink of an eye. Flames spread across the flammable items on the floor, spilled gunpowder from the weapons, loose grenades. Even a mech’s wreckage was about to overload and explode, and Arcane didn’t want to be around to see that. The blue figure turned and ran, dashing across the low flames like a coal-walker. The merciless mech showed no signs of leeway, the low hum of its energy core raising and raising, until it could take no more.

The horrid sound cracked around the clearing, the blast kicking Arcane out of Junkertown through a window while flames licked out after him, the tongue of a serpent, searching for him. He evaded. He landed on the desert sands with a graceful roll, finishing in a low crouch, cat-like reflexes returning to him in a time of need. His lips were parted slightly, small breaths blowing little grains of sand in different directions, skittering across the solid terrain, each one a tumbleweed in a tornado, being thrashed by the comparatively strong wind-force. A pair of shadows stretched out across the ground in front of Arcane. He quickly looked up and saw who they belonged to. A scrawny man with a bionic arm, and a peg-leg, wielded a grenade launcher. No shirt covered his bare, hairless chest and a pair of torn jeans didn’t do much to compensate. His spikey, blonde hair had little embers dancing between their strands, and his skin was coated in a thin layer of soot. Rather disgusting. His entire body abruptly shuddered with each breath. His companion, a tall, morbidly obese man with a compact shotgun and a dark-grey mask fashioned to look like the face of a pig hiding his mug from recognition. A large, metal hook chained to a winch at his waist was clenched tightly in his other hand, and his belly heaved with timed inhales and exhales.

_Junkrat and Roadhog._

The two thieves glanced first at Arcane, then at the smoke pouring from the place they had once called their home. The Italian assassin slugged his sword from its resting place on his back, swinging it threateningly before bringing it into a two-handed stance with the tip facing at them.  
“Roadie! Hold ‘im off! I’ll get the bike started!” Of all the accents Arcane had heard today, the high-pitched cackle that emerged from the lips of Junkrat was arguably the most irritating one. The one-legged man bounded off behind the wooden shacks from the founders of Junkertown, whereas his ‘friend’ stood his ground, brandishing his hook and readying his scrap-gun. Arcane bolted from a stand-still, swiftly closing the gap between him and Roadhog. The bloated crook swung his hook horizontally, cleaving through the air and just barely missing. Arcane felt a few strands of his shaggy hair brush against the cool metal. The demon ducked and slid beneath the strike like it was nothing at all, appearing behind Roadhog. Hog lumbered forward, pulling the trigger a couple of times on his gun and sending nuts, bolts and any other scrap he could cram into the barrel out towards him. The jagged metal chipped at Arcane’s armour, sending scratches across its pristine craftsmanship. He extended both arms, pointing the weapon at his new-found foe and blasting with ‘Unknown Beam’ The One-Man Apocalypse pulled a yellow canister out of his belt and shoved it’s nozzle into a small gap in his mask, inhaling hard as the concentrated attack bore into the boar. When the beam faded, not a scratch appeared on him.  
“Urgh, I love this bloody stuff...” Roadhog’s voice was unlike anything he’d heard today, it was deep and guttural, almost like the voice of a smoker in the way that it sounded like he was struggling to breathe, combined with the tiredness of a hardened mercenary who’d seen more than his fair share of cursed shit. With one final attempt, the hitman sprinted at Roadhog, switching the sword into dual wield and dragging their ends across the ground. At the last moment, he brought the swords up, aiming for a double slash from left to right. Hog caught both blades on the inside of his hook, bringing the three intertwined weapons over their heads in a wide arc and digging them into the ground. The roar of a motorcycle filled the air.  
“C’mon Roadie, hop on!” Roadhog left Arcane with his swords buried in the dirt, trying to pull them out. He lumbered towards the motorcycle and knocked Junkrat into the sidecar, taking the driver’s seat for himself and speeding off. Arcane finally loosened the blade’s from their terrafirma prison with one final tug, but the dynamite duo were long gone. He slung the sword back into it’s hold and pressed a button on his wrist, a small, light-blue light firing up.  
“Mission complete, come on down, Phoenix…” The small, black airship soared overhead, landing on the ground and sending even more dust to resettle elsewhere. Intricate patterns were painted on in sapphire and lapis. The door opened, inviting Arcane inside which he happily accepted, climbing aboard and dialing a set of coordinates into the navigation system. Once he pressed enter, the engines roared to life once more, lifting the Phoenix into the sky and carrying him out of sight.

Halfway across the world, the Phoenix flew, swooping low over the rushing waves of the English Channel. Foam from the sea splashed up, clinging to the jet-black paint of the ship before being whipped away by the wind. The white cliffs of dover appeared, rising from the horizon, breathtaking. Arcane’s home, inside those cliffs. As he came nearer and nearer, a mouth began to open in the cliff-face, a cave with electric-blue lighting lining the crevices like the golden trim on a fantasy knight’s suit of armour. The Phoenix slowed, the speedometer chopped down, stopping at the 20 miles per hour mark. The ship closed the gap, sliding into the bunker and settling down on a helipad-type landing spot. Air hissed as the jagged mouth of the entrance sidled shut, any evidence of the hideout’s existence invisible from the outside once more. Just the way he liked it. The latch of the ship detached, and laid itself down, the smooth metal transforming into a set of steps for Arcane to exit back onto ground. An automated voice echoed throughout the room.  
“Password?” The voice was male. Despite being a recording, it was smooth and rich. Arcane responded: “Bigger than Giants.”, a second door opening on cue, the gears groaning in protest as they forced the two heavy metal sheets away from each other. The voice sounded out again.  
“Welcome home, Arcane!” Arcane walked through the doors, T-posing against a wall to his left and whistling. Almost immediately, an armada of metallic tendrils reached down, closing on different pieces of armour and removing them from his body, leaving just his under clothes and mask as all that protected him from the cool air of his very own Batcave. The arms retracted, and another pair bearing a blue T-shirt with an Italian flag on the sleeve reached down, Arcane raising his arms and letting the fabric fall over him. A pair of denim shorts were pushed up his legs by yet another pair of arms, spawning from the floor. With the new attire, all tendrils retracted into their homes, Arcane continuing. The ‘Enigma Blade’ still remained on his back, there was a special place for that.

As he continued on, there appeared a small, simple computer setup, a chair tucked neatly under the desk it sat on. A small, empty glass case sat behind it, sandwiched between the podium below it and the small aquarium on top, the fish tank containing a few Blue Tang. The office. Arcane entered the small room, taking the sword off of his back and carefully sliding it into the glass case before pushing the lid shut. He walked around the tank, casually tapping a knuckle against a button that released enough fish-food to go around. He let out a large, exaggerated sigh as he slumped into the chair, sending eerie creaking sounds throughout the cave as they bounced around the tight spaces and found themselves back in his ears. He winced.  
“I need a new chair…” He growled to himself. He reached out and grabbed a tissue, wiping the sweat from his forehead before logging onto the computer, inputting a different password to the previous entry word he’d used: Mugello The word hurt Arcane to type it, but it was a password he was sure nobody would ever guess, should anyone get this far into his base. The computer whirred and hummed, slowly coming to life and showing a barren desk-top. Only two short-cuts existed, ‘Hit-list’ and ‘Holonet.’ The cursor slid across the screen, resting on the Hit-list and clicking, opening the new window, filling the screen with a spreadsheet. He ticked off a box next to the name “Jessica Fawkes'' with the callsign “Queen of Junkertown” beside it. He did a double take. “Jessica Fawks?” He repeated, opening the holonet and typing in Junkrat, bringing up Jamison Fawks. “I guess they’re related…” He hadn’t expected it. They didn’t exactly have the best relationship. After a few minutes, a notification appeared on his screen, alerting him that 1.2 million pounds had just been deposited into his funds. He clicked on the window and typed a message out to Ol’ Smokey:

“What about that other thing you mentioned? I’m not particularly interested in giving up my life, but I’m curious what you had in mind?” He waited for a response. Sweat leaked off his palm and onto the computer mouse. Nothing came back from the equally enigmatic contact. The glowing peripheral slid across the desk, the wheel between the buttons spinning under Arcane’s dexterous middle finger to scroll the screen through the list, scanning the countless names on it. Finally, he settled, a dark-grey Omnic by the name of Maximilien. He clicked on the attached file, opening more details other than a picture and a name. Age, affiliations, current workplace, but the organisation that he was working for is what shook the harbinger of blood to his cold, dark core. _Talon._ “Holy shit…” He muttered under his breath, almost afraid someone would hear him. He’d never been tasked with a hit on a Talon member before. This would be one of the hardest challenges of his life. It seemed futile. Fruitless. No possibility to gain anything from such an outlandish task. Except for $10,000,000, just for short circuiting a big-headed bot? A big-headed bot, likely residing in a heavily defended stronghold under the protection of an a thousand-man-strong army? Arcane’s hand moved back and forth, searching for the correct way to go about this. Seeing a pro and hovering over the accept button, then thinking of a con and retreating towards the back button. He checked the contract details again, unsurprised to find it to be another deal from Ol’ Smokey. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

_Back and forth._

10 million, one target, one night… His mind was made up. He set the contract into stone, pressing his index-finger into the mouse button and solidifying a life-changing decision. The next chapter in Arcane’s life was about to begin. He just didn’t know it yet…


End file.
